


Boots

by Jennifer_Collins



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Alexandria - Freeform, Team Carol Boots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 14:56:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3696569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennifer_Collins/pseuds/Jennifer_Collins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another Alexandria drabble. Carol learns what happens to the garbage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boots

“And we’re finally rid of those dirty, disgusting clothes y’all were wearin’ when ya arrived….” 

Carol pushed the shirt she was working on into the wash basin in front of her, trying hard to stifle a bored yawn as she listened to her companion prattle on. 

“My husband, George, you remember him, don’t ya? He told me so himself, watched ‘em all go up in flames.” 

Carol blinked. “I’m sorry, Kathy, what did you say?” 

“Yep. See, he works on the garbage crew.” 

Her brows raised in minor interest. “What does happen to the garbage around here?” She asked with a frown. 

“It all gets burnt by the garbage crew, once a week,” the orange-haired woman continued. 

She froze mid-scrub, her head snapping up and eyes wide. “All of it? Everything my people and I were wearing when we got here?” She asked, her heart sinking.

The woman wrinkled her nose. “Ev’ry last stinkin’ garment. Thankfully. I don’t think there was anythin’ salvageable in that mess.” She clucked her tongue. “Poor dear. You must be so much more comfortable in these clothes that Deanna gave you. Looks great on you too, with your figure.” 

“Right… um, I have to… have to go…..” She didn’t wait for her partner’s reaction as she took off down the street in the direction the woman had gestured to. 

XXXXX

“And it’s all just gone?” Maggie asked, setting her juicebox down on the picnic table.

Carol nodded miserably. “All of it. Everything we had. I checked myself. There’s nothing left.” 

Michonne raised an eyebrow, watching them silently. 

“Even my boots,” she continued, her expression somber.

The younger girl frowned. “I never knew you to be so materialistic. It’s just stuff.”

Carol didn’t say anything.

“Thought you traded in those boots for loafers,” Michonne said quietly, her eyes narrowed. “Besides, the zipper was broken anyway. They’re not practical anymore.” 

Maggie shrugged when they still didn’t get a response. “If it’s really that important to you, I’ll talk to Deanna. See if she can spare some extra boots for you.” 

Carol shook her head. “You don’t have to do that. I just… just miss them, that’s all.” 

“Well, you let me know if you change your mind,” Maggie said, rising up from the table. “I’ve gotta get back to Deanna. But thank you both for having lunch with me.” 

“Hey.” Michonne looked over her shoulder at Carol after they’d watch their friend go. “You know you’re still a tough cookie, even without those badass boots, right?” 

Carol gave her a half smile as she distractedly packed up the table. 

XXXXX

Hours later, Carol was hanging the wash with clothespins on a drying rack when she heard the front door open. She craned her neck to peer out the cutout in the wall and sighed with relief when she noted it was Daryl. 

“In here,” she called, watching him set his crossbow down on the coffee table and shrug out of his boots. 

“Hay,” he said once he’d moved closer. 

“Hey,” she greeted, turning back to the laundry. “How was it?” 

He shrugged. “Alright. Grabbed a coupl’a things from the outside. Caught some rabbits in the woods.” 

She looked up at him. “Just set them in the kitchen. I’ll bring them to Olivia when I’m done here.” 

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Yup. If I had any money, I’d pay ta see ya show ‘er how ta clean ‘em.” 

She smile slightly, although the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, then lowered her head, pinning the last shirt up. 

“Whassa matter?” Daryl asked, his voice low. 

She shook her head. “Nothing.” She attempted to move past him, but he blocked her path. 

“Ain’t nothin,” he said. “So what is it?” 

She set her mouth in a line, staring up at him silently. 

“Fine,” he muttered, reaching for his bag. “Think I got somethin in here that might cheer ya up.” 

She pushed her hands into her pockets, aware that he was watching her face as he unzipped his pack. 

“C’mere,” he said, sticking his hand inside and pulling out something large and dark. 

She squinted against the setting sun seeping in through the opened blinds, raising her chin to get a better angle to see what he was showing her. 

He set both things on the table and her mouth dropped open as her breath caught in her throat. “Daryl…” she said, tears starting to form in the corners of her eyes as she covered her mouth with her hand. 

“Zipper was broken on tha right one. I had ta fix it for ya. Won’t be good as new, but well-” He cut off with a loud gulp of air, catching her in both his arms as she flung herself at him. 

She threw her arms around his neck, pressing her body firmly against his and nearly catching him off balance as she buried her face in his skin. 

He eagerly returned her embrace, one hand rubbing her back. 

“W-where did you get them?” She managed after a minute, pulling back slightly to look at him.

“Saw some assholes haulin junk into a fire when I left this mornin. Wasn’t gonna let ‘em burn ya boots.” 

“Daryl, I…” she leaned into him again, her voice catching. “How did you know?” she whispered. 

“Because,” he whispered back, running his fingers softly through her hair. “I know.” 

She sighed softly, tightening her grip on him. “Thank you.” 

He pulled her into his chest, nuzzling his chin against her forehead and preparing to hold her a little while longer.


End file.
